


Finding the Way Home

by Breakmyheartwinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Foster Care, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 00:59:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18419549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakmyheartwinchester/pseuds/Breakmyheartwinchester
Summary: Requested: Oneshot where the reader is 14 or 15 and she knows all about the supernatural world but doesn't hunt for reasons. Sam and Dean come to her town one day and she knows who they are and so she helps them on a hunt and after the hunt they offer to let her come on the road with them and hunt because they all became really good friends. And she's an orphan.





	Finding the Way Home

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine: Oneshot where the reader is 14 or 15 and she knows all about the supernatural world but doesn't hunt for reasons. Sam and Dean come to her town one day and she knows who they are and so she helps them on a hunt and after the hunt they offer to let her come on the road with them and hunt because they all became really good friends. And she's an orphan.
> 
> Requested by: Anonymous
> 
> Pairing: None
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Word Count: 5997
> 
> TW: Underage drinking, mentions of rape (not detailed), drugs, abuse
> 
> Author's Note: Man. This is a story that has been a LONG TIME COMING. Writer's block is no joke, kiddos. Also, this was requested by an anonymous follower, so if you're still following me, thank you so, so, so much for being patient. I love you and I'm sorry it took forever. Finally, this probably should have been broken up into chapters. My bad.

"I know what you're looking for."

The two men in front of you, one abnormally tall, turned around quickly, exchanging a look that clearly said they didn't believe you. No one ever did.

"I mean…I think I do, at least. If my research is right." When they still didn't respond, you felt your face flush with embarrassment. So with as much defiance as you could muster, you crossed your arms tightly across your chest and spouted, "And I know you're not real cops."

That got a reaction. The shorter one opened his mouth to say something, and then promptly closed it, looking at the taller one, who finally spoke after an uneasy silence. "What do you think you saw?"

"A werewolf."

Another uneasy look was exchanged, before the shorter one raised his eyebrows and asked, "It's late. Where are your parents?"

"Don't have any. Do you want to know what I saw, or not?"

Fifteen minutes later, you were seated comfortably in a 24 hour diner, a plate of steaming French fries in front of you, with two men that were unnecessarily beautiful staring, waiting for you to speak.

"So since I know that you're not real cops, what are your names?"

Another look, and then finally an answer, the first one all night. "I'm Sam, he's Dean. What's your name?"

You stared at them for a moment, before laughing, "Yeah, right. And I'm Ginny Weasley."

The blank stares you got back in return made you raise your eyebrows in disbelief. "Sam and Dean? The two brothers that hunt supernatural things in the Supernatural books?"

The way they rolled their eyes told you this wasn't the first time they had been asked about the books. As they turned to whisper to each other, you surveyed their actions. They did act like brothers. Careful to watch each other's backs and share secrets. They had something together that you had never had with anyone else in the world. They had a fluid movement. One would step forward, the other would fall back. They could speak with saying a single word. Even sitting in the booth, they angled their bodies towards each other in a way that said they knew each other better than any two random coworkers would. You felt that uncomfortable ache in your chest as you watched them converse and chose to drop your head to focus intently on your plate instead when the thought hit you. "I know how you can prove it! I read on Carver Edlund's webpage that Sam and Dean had matching tattoos, but he never said what, or where, they were."

As you were talking, both boys began unbuttoning their dress shirts, pulling them to the side to reveal matching anti-possession tattoos. "Badass," You murmured, dragging several fries through your ketchup. "Okay. So…You are. Weird. Do you guys know Carver Edlund?"

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam chuckled softly, "You could say that. But back to you. What's your name?"

"Y/N," you said through a mouthful of steaming potato and salt.

"Okay, Y/N," Dean said, clasping his hands together on the tabletop as he stared at your fries, "What'd you see?"

"Well," you started, digging in your backpack for a ratty purple notebook. "I was at this party the other night, and—"

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen," you answered with a raised eyebrow, daring them to make a comment about your age, while you flipped through the notebook for the page dated the night of the party. "And I was sitting in the kitchen, away from everyone else, just trying to get a little bit of peace and quiet, you know? Not like anyone was really talking to me anyway. And I saw Jason go out the back door to go smoke. Alex followed him out, and I didn't think anything about it because they're on the basketball team together, but I happened to look out the window in time to see Alex step out of the woods with blood on his hands. I stepped behind this cabinet in the kitchen that kind of blocked me and Alex came in and started washing his hands. A few seconds later, one of the cheerleaders, either Brittany or Autumn, ran in and started screaming that Jason was dead. Alex turned to run out with everyone else, but before he did, I saw his eyes."

You flipped your notebook around where you had drawn what you had seen. His eyes had been normal before, but when you saw them after he came in, they had turned yellow and fox-like, with narrow pupils. And you had thought, for a brief moment that his hands had been clawed when he came inside, so you had drawn that. Beneath the pictures you had detailed the story you had just told Sam and Dean. Dean reached forward and took your notebook, reviewing your notes carefully, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Y/N, these are really good notes."

"Thanks," you said proudly, pushing the empty plate away from you. "So was I right? Was it a werewolf?"

"Not really, no." Sam answered, glancing over Dean's shoulder at your notes. "Last night wasn't a full moon."

You felt embarrassment flush your face for the second time tonight. You should've known that. You had walked outside with everyone else to check on Jason's body, and the moon wasn't nearly bright enough to have been full. Most people had used their cell phones to see their way out to the tree line.

"It might be a Kitsune," Sam said, interrupting your thoughts. "But we won't be absolutely sure until we check out Jason's autopsy."

"We should do that tomorrow," Dean responded as he flipped your notebook shut and slid it across the table towards you. When you reached out to take it, he said casually, "So what else you got in there? Anything else that we could use for the investigation?"

"I doubt it," you muttered, focusing far too intently on making sure the notebook was in your bag and all your pens were in the front pocket. "It's mainly just stories and pictures and stuff. I keep to myself a lot, so I write and stuff to pass the time."

"Well if you record everything like you did that murder, I'd bet there's some great stories in there," Sam said with a gentle smile. You felt your face flush as you turned away to focus intently on retying your already tightly tied shoelaces.

"So," you said softly, refusing to make eye contact, "I can't help you with the autopsy thing, but if you start asking high school kids what happened at the party they were at, where a lot of them were drinking, they're not going to tell you shit. I can help you there."

You lifted your eyes to Dean's, who, although he was incredibly gorgeous, seemed slightly more approachable. Mainly due to the attitude that was dripping off of his body and radiating across the diner table. "I was there. They already know that I saw some things. And Alex saw me in the kitchen for a split second before he took off outside after everyone else. If I start asking questions, it's not weird. Especially if I say that I had had a lot to drink and thought that I saw something weird."

The two exchanged a look, their faces impassive to you, but clearly readable to each other. There was silence, only the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen behind you, before Dean finally shrugged and Sam nodded curtly.

"Fine," Dean said casually. "But you have to promise to keep it low key. And when we show up and start asking questions, you have to tell them that we're real feds. Got it?"

You nodded enthusiastically, feeling your chest swell with pride and your heart thump quickly in your chest. Finally, someone in the world was giving you some responsibility. Finally, someone was trusting you with something so important that if you didn't do it correctly, the whole thing would fall apart. It had been years, since your early childhood, since anyone had talked to you with such sincerity and trust. Finally.

Just as you felt the night couldn't get any better, the waitress dropped the checks at the table. Sam and Dean, with their single cups of black coffee, couldn't have a bill of anything more $2.00. But you had had French fries and a soda and had joined Dean in his eyeing of the pie case. Flipping your hair off of your shoulder, you grabbed your ticket and flipped it open, swallowing hard. $5.50. Add on a tip and you were screwed. Licking your lips, which had suddenly gone dry, you reached into the side pocket of your bag and pulled out a handful of bills, keeping your eyes determinedly away from the Greek Gods sitting across from you. As you started counting through the single dollars, you saw a hand slide across the table and snag your bill.

"We've got it," Sam said smoothly, adding your bill to their own. "No worries."

You felt the blush burn across your cheeks and down the back of your neck. You hated charity. Especially when it was because it was so obvious that you needed it. Muttering your thanks, you dipped your head to study your backpack intently, letting your hair cover your face. "Anyway. I should probably go. I have school tomorrow and I have math homework to finish. And interview questions to prepare. So…Thanks. Again. And I'll just see you guys after school tomorrow."

And before they could say anything other than okay, you grabbed your bag and slid out of the booth. As you flipped your hair off of your shoulders and pushed the glass door open, you stepped into the night and let out a heavy sigh. Turning confidently to the right, you set off down the fairly empty street, your head held high. As the warm glow of the diner faded away, you couldn't help shivering slightly in cool fall breeze. You weren't entirely sure where you were going to sleep tonight. The first few weeks of school you had slept at the bus station. It was in a public place, and although they left the lights on all night, it was safer than a lot of places. Then one night, just as you had walked into settle in for the night, you had seen a girl from your English class and had to pretend you were checking on ticket prices to go visit your grandmother in Arizona. The past month or so, you had found a spot out in the woods that was comfortable.

You had been walking home from school one day, desperate for a place to sleep. Mr. Williams had let you stay as late at the school as he could before he recommended you go home. That night on your way home you had ducked into the woods when you saw a police unit turn down a corner. Although you were sure they would have only meant well, there was no way you were going to let them pick you up for curfew and drag you to The House. As you crept through the woods, the only sound the crunch of leaves under your feet, you had nearly broken your neck tripping down a steep, sudden slope in the woods. At the bottom of the slope, where you were curled in a ball, covered in dirt and leaves, you had glanced to your left and in the moonlight, spied a cave-like hole. The ledge you had been on previously jutted over the top of a leaf covered dwelling. The sides of the hill blocked it from wind, the ledge blocked it from rain. And so, like a small woodland creature, it became your dwelling.

But now it was too cold, and you didn't have anywhere to sleep. Just as you were considering circling back to the 24 hour diner, you heard the rumble of a car engine and froze in your tracks, praying it wasn't who you thought it was. But as the impala slid up beside you, and the window rolled down, you found yourself face to face with Sam. Dean leaned down to see your face better, concern etched across the foreheads of both.

"Do you need a ride?"

Oh sure, just drop me off at the edge of the woods. I live there. Or better yet, drop me off at the 24 hour diner so I can beg to just sit in a booth for a while.

"No, I'm okay."

"You left like…twenty minutes ago. Won't your parents be worried?"

"I already told you I don't have any."

They exchanged a look that said a lot more than you could decipher before you heard the click of the door unlocking.

"Need a place dry and warm to sleep?"

You felt the heat burn in your cheeks, but ignored it while chewed the inside of your cheek. You didn't know them, you just knew the stories about them, and who knew how accurate they were? But at the same time, something about them seemed warm, safe. So against your better judgment, you swung the door open and dropped into the backseat. It wasn't the first time you had given in and let someone else drive you to a place to stay, however it was the first time that you had allowed two men to take you somewhere. You swallowed the lump in your throat and prayed that they were like the Sam and Dean Winchester in the Supernatural books and not as creepy as half the guys you had met in your life. Pulling your notebook out of your bag, you flipped through the pages until you got to the pictures you had drawn of Alex. A kitsune. Scribbling the approximate spelling in the margin, you stared at your notes, memorizing every little detail.

As you pulled into the parking lot of the Pine Ridge Motel at the edge of town, you felt your heart hammering in your chest. Moving out of the backseat slowly, dragging your backpack behind you, you stood silently behind Dean while Sam unlocked the door, closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped into the dark room. The door shut behind you and you felt your entire body coiled and ready to attack if they so much as touched you. But instead, you heard the sounds of bags being dropped on the floor, coats being pulled off of bodies, ties being untied. The TV flipped on and the laughter of a sitcom echoed through the room. To your left, the whir of a computer fan started. You let out a sigh so reminiscent of a shudder after crying that it surprised even you.

When you opened your eyes, both boys were determinedly not looking at you. Sam was sitting in front of a glowing computer screen, typing furiously. His hair fell in front of his gorgeous hazel eyes, and he shook it out of the way without touching it. He had rolled his dress shirt sleeves up and draped his tie over the back of his chair. He looked so at home, you felt yourself relax. Dean was propped against the headboard of one of the beds, his long legs folded in front of him. You weren't sure quite how long you stood there, both men ignoring you before you let out a soft sigh of relief and shifted nervously.

"Um. There's only two beds so I can sleep in the car or…?"

"No," Dean answered immediately without looking away from the screen. "Sam will though."

Sam let out an annoyed huff, but didn't look up from where he was typing furiously. So cautiously you dropped your bag on the end of the free bed, then sat down next to it, nearly hovering over the bedspread. After several long minutes of Sam and Dean determinedly not changing their activities, you grabbed your bag and slipped into the bathroom. Locking the door behind you, you let out a heavy breath of relief.

Staring at your face in the mirror, you noted how shitty you looked. Your hair was greasy and limp, your skin was patchy, your eyes dull…Living outside had really taken its toll. A warm shower would definitely help. For the most part, you had taken to showering at school. You got there as soon as they unlocked the doors and were able to take a shower before the athletic kids needed to use them. Getting to school so early and leaving so late had helped you to form strong bonds with staff at the high school. They let you have seconds at breakfast and lunch. They let you use the art room and the locker rooms whenever you wanted. The home ec teacher let you wash your clothes in the washer and dryer in her room. And every single person turned a blind eye to the fact you weren't living in your foster home. Being a good, quiet kid afforded you multiple benefits.

Turning away from the mirror, you turned on the hot water, stripped down, and stepped into a stream so hot it took your breath away from a second. As you let the water run down your back, you held your hands in front of you, inspecting nails worn to the beds, caked in dirt. You turned them over, gently rubbing the callouses on your palms, then moving to your thin wrists, your jutting collarbones, your ribs, the scars on your thighs…And when you touched them, you flinched.

An icy chill ran through your blood, and you slowly lowered yourself to the floor of the shower, where you tucked your knees to your chest and cried quietly.

Forty minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam dressed in sweatpants and an oversized Zeppelin tee. Dean had moved from the bed to the chair across from Sam. They were both leaning over a book, the lamplight illuminating their features. It was so picture perfect, you frozen for a moment, taking a picture in your mind. Dean glanced up and his eyes registered your shirt. He grinned and nudged Sam who sat up and shook his head.

Taking a seat on the bed with your things, you pulled out your ratty notebook and flipped to a fresh page. You quickly started to sketch out the scene in front of you, desperate not to miss such a beautiful picture.

"So, we're definitely thinking kitsune." Dean said, turning to face you. "Sam has some experience there."

Sam rolled his eyes for what must have been the twelfth time that night. "Shut up, Dean."

Dean ignored Sam and continued, "Here's the plan. You go to school tomorrow. Ask around, see if anyone else saw Alex. Once we get a confirmation, we'll set up a plan to draw him out, then kill him."

Without looking up from your notebook, you asked softly, "How do you kill one?"

"Starve them," Sam answered, "Or stab them in the heart. The latter is usually the quickest and easiest way."

You nodded, processing the plan as carefully as possible before speaking. "So what are we looking at? Two days?"

"Three, tops." Sam replied.

So at most, you were looking at one, maybe two, nights in a warm, dry hotel room. That was enough time to give you a chance to find somewhere else to sleep. Some time to do a few more papers for other kids to make some money.

As the guys resumed their low conversation, you added a few final touches to your picture before flipping the notebook closed. Slipping under the worn hotel blanket, you sighed softly. One more night here. Two more days.

You didn't really sleep that night. You dozed on and off, waking several times through the night to check and make sure everything was okay. Sam had slipped out to the car somewhere around two in the morning, and Dean had crashed into his bed (literally) around three. When you woke at 6:30 to get ready for school, both were still sleeping. You slipped in the bathroom to get ready, pulling a comfortably worn-in hoodie over your head. Throwing your backpack over your shoulder, you started towards the door, jumping when Dean's voice said suddenly, "Wait up. We'll give you a ride."

"Um, no," you said without hesitating. "It'll look shady as fuck if I show up with two "feds" and then start asking people questions about Jason."

You had to suppress a smile when Dean flinched at you saying 'fuck'. There was something…satisfying about it.

"I'll be fine."

And without waiting for a response, you slipped out the unlocked motel room door and walked to school.

It was third hour, and you still hadn't gotten any information about the party. Most people ignored you completely when you asked them a question, and the few who did answer all the same answer. They were inside, drinking, or making out, or puking, and then people ran in screaming and everyone bailed. That was it.

. The school was in a state of mourning; one of the best basketball players with a "bright future" and "endless opportunities" was dead. There was a grief counseling center set up in the gym, and Jason's locker had turned into a miniature memorial, covered in notes and flowers and stuffed animals. You found that you often had to physically hold on to your desk to keep from rolling your eyes every time someone in one of your classes burst into tears. Half the people crying didn't even hang out with Jason.

Your English teacher was wrapping up an impassioned speech about taking care of each other, supporting each other, and how her classroom was a "loving environment" if anyone needed to talk. Today would be a day of "reflection". Students were free to write stories or poems in their journals, sit in small groups and talk to each other, or just meditate on their own. As your teacher turned towards a group of sobbing cheerleaders on the far side of the class, you glanced around the room, your eyes landing on Lexi, Aiden, and Cassie, kids that you knew fairly well. If you had friends, these would be them. And as suspected, they weren't crying, but whispering furtively. Aiden looked furious, Cassie looked upset, and Lexi looked…numb.

Cassie caught your eye and waved you over. Standing up quickly, you grabbed your bag from the floor and crossed the room in a few short steps, dropping down in the seat next to Cassie.

"You can't just disappear on the night a jock dies and not tell us. If you tell us, we can help you," Aiden whispered angrily at Lexi.

You shot a glance at Cassie who leaned over to whisper "You know the party we were all at Friday night?"

You nodded.

"Lexi disappeared like…20 minutes before someone found Jason in the trees. When I went by her house to check on her Saturday morning, she was curled up on her bed, still in her clothes…And they had blood on them." Cassie cast you a knowing glance before turning back to the conversation.

"Come on, Lex. Let us help."

Her reply was so soft, you almost didn't hear it over the sound of murmurs and swallowed sobs coming from the throats of your classmates. "You can't."

"Speaking of disappearing," Cassie murmured, "Y/N, where were you? One second we were in the living room, then I turned around and you were gone."

"Kitchen. When everyone burst in panicking, I got shoved back towards the pantry."

"Ohhh," Cassie nodded. "Makes total sense. I got shoved into the beer pong table."

As you and Cassie discussed the hustle and bustle of the party crowd, and Aiden ranted about how his car smelled like beer after giving Cassie a ride home, which pissed his mom off of Sunday when she got in it, you stole a glance at Lexi, who was staring at the smooth top of her desk, as if her entire world was right there.

After class, you hurried to catch up with Lexi, your voice catching behind a sudden lump in your throat. You knew Lexi, and Cassie, and Aiden. You sat with them at lunch sometimes. You saw them on the rare occasion you did anything at school that wasn't required. And they were nice enough. But you were about to cross a major line, and you didn't really know her all that well.

"L-Lexi!" You called, "Wait up!"

When she turned to face you, you watched the sadness in her eyes build, and grabbed her by the elbow to pull her into the empty art classroom.

"Lexi," you started softly, "What-"

"I swear to God, if you ask me what happened…" Lexi interrupted angrily, but then she burst into tears.

You stood there awkwardly for a second before reaching for a box of Kleenex on the desk behind you. You had never been great at crying people.

"I'm not going to ask you what happened," you muttered. "I was going to ask if you're okay. And what class you were headed to next."

"Oh," she replied, focusing carefully on her shoes, wiping her nose on a Kleenex. "I, um. I'm fine. All things considered. I'm headed to Bio."

"Might as well skip. Broderick's taking everyone to the gym for grief counseling." When Lexi rolled her eyes, you laughed softly. "So… what did you mean? All things considered? I didn't think you and Jason were like…friends."

"We're not. Have you seen me?" Lexi gestured at herself. Dyed black and pink hair. Piercings. A walking ad for Hot Topic. Definitely not the kind of person Jason spent time with. So then why the sadness?

Lexi turned to glance over her shoulder at the hallway, which had thinned considerably. "If I tell you what happened…Promise not to tell?"

You nodded and swallowed hard, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Just as she turned back to you, Sam walked past in the hallway. When he saw you, he stopped, but you frowned and shook her head 'no' by a fraction. Sam nodded in acknowledgement and continued down the hallway.

"Okay," Lexi said softly, leaning against a desk. "So. I was playing beer pong with Aiden and Cassie and Tyler. And I started getting kind of dizzy and I knew if I went home drunk my mom would kill me, so I went to the back porch to sit for a second. I had only been out there for…I don't know. Five minutes? Ten? And um." She paused, her chin quivering with unshed tears. "Um, Jason came outside. And he handed me a solo cup and said he noticed I had ducked out of the living room and came to check on me." She took a deep breath. "The last thing I remember was finishing the drink and a weird taste at the back of my mouth. And then when I woke up," Lexi stopped. And then she starting sobbing so hard you hurried to close the door before hurrying back to her side. "When I came to I was in the trees. A-and there were leaves in my h-h-hair. And I hurt s-so bad."

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. Rape. The dead look in her eyes, the blood on her clothes. Jason had raped Lexi.

"The um…taste. At the back of your mouth. Was it salty?"

Lexi frowned quizzically and nodded slowly.

"Rohypnol. Date rape drug."

Lexi lurched forward and dropped to her knees in front of a trash can, throwing up violently. You stepped forward to hold her hair back, something you were good at for a change. And as you patted her back, Lexi lifted her head and asked softly, "How do you know?"

A panic swept through your body, causing you to take a step back, letting Lexi's hair drop. You swallowed hard and turned away. "I write and stuff. So. Yeah."

Even you could hear the lie. Wrapping your arms around yourself as if to block out a sudden chill, you turned to face Lexi again. "Did you see what happened to Jason?"

It was Lexi's turn to turn away. She pulled her hair back and grabbed a Kleenex to wipe her mouth. Then she said softly. "I didn't see anything. When I woke up, everyone was crowding around like…15, 20 feet away, and people were crying. I crawled off towards the creek and took the long way home."

You nodded, feeling more and more sick by the second. "You know you have to tell someone, right?"

"I just did."

"Not me."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't…I can't DO anything about it."

"No one can. In case you didn't notice, Y/N, he's dead."

"Lexi. You have to let someone know. They can-"

"Can what, Y/N?" She stood up angrily, her hair whipping around. "Put it in the papers? Talk about it in the hallways? Post it on Instagram? In case you didn't notice, the entire. Fucking. School. Is upset about Jason dying. Nothing will happen. I'll just get called a liar."

"Not if you tell like…a teacher. Or your counselor. Or maybe-"

"God. Fuck off, Y/N. I shouldn't have said anything."

Lexi's words felt like a slap across the face. Taking a step back, you stuttered out. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Whatever."

Grabbing your bag, you slipped out of the classroom, fighting tears, only to run into Sam's very solid torso.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said softly, leaning over to see your face. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," you stated angrily, brushing the back of your hand across your eyes. "Don't worry about it. I have class. I'll talk to you later."

The rest of the day, Lexi avoided you like the plague.

Later that night, over pizza and a semi-comfortable motel bed, you recounted the story to Sam and Dean. When you reached the point of the story where Lexi mentioned the taste at the back of her throat, both men shifted uncomfortably and put their food down. When you mentioned her waking up in the forest, they looked like they were going to be sick.

"She said when she woke up that she was fifteen to twenty yards away from the scene and that she walked home. And…she doesn't want anyone else to know, so if you guys could keep it quiet that would be…really cool of you."

Both nodded, but then Sam said softly, "Hey, Y/N? Why were you crying when you came out of the classroom?"

"No reason," you said softly, focusing on your pizza crust.

"You sure?"

You sat in silence for a moment, listening to the buzz of the retro alarm clock on the side table, before saying softly as possible. "I know what it tastes like because I've tasted it. And when I told Lexi she should tell someone, she got really upset, and now she won't talk to me and I just want her to be okay."

Dean leaned forward, concern etched on his face. "Y/N…I'm going to need you to explain a little more clearly. What do you mean you've tasted it?"

Pushing your plate away, you drew your knees up to your chest, latching your arms around them tightly. "I, um." You paused, shaking your head. "I'm a foster kid? And um. The House I was put in, here in town is pretty…fucked up. So um. I don't stay there?" You refused to make eye contact. "I don't have parents. I don't have anywhere to sleep. I find places and I stay at school a lot. So."

You felt tears run down your face and brushed them away with frustration and embarrassment. This was not about you. This was about Lexi and Jason and Alex. And now that the whole Lexi-Jason thing made sense, all that was left was how Alex got involved.

Sam reached forward like he was going to touch you, but when you flinched away, sat back, clearing his throat.

"Okay. So Jason was already in the woods. Alex murdered Jason." Sam shot a look at Dean, "Thinking what I'm thinking?"

The next morning, you were engrossed, or as engrossed as one could be in History, when the secretary came over the loudspeaker asking to see Alex Wyatt in the office. As he stood up and stepped out of the classroom, you waited, counted to twelve, then asked for a pass for the counselor's office. Walking casually in the hallway, you made eye contact with Dean at the end of the hall and gave him a half nod. Slipping into the office, you sat in a chair outside the counseling office where you could see into the conference room Sam and Dean had Alex in.

Both were dressed impeccably, showed Alex their badges, and sat down across from Alex. A solid wall of power. You weren't sure how long you sat there, waiting for something to happen, or for a counselor to become available, but all of a sudden, Alex was crying and gesturing with his hands, and Sam and Dean were frowning at each other. They stood in unison, murmuring softly to Alex, and moving towards the door. As they swept past, Sam gave a subtle wink.

The rest of the day moved in a blur and your nerves were buzzing, desperate to know what the plan was. A knife through the heart? Tied in a basement and starved out? What was going to happen to Alex? And how were you going to get to help?

"Nothing?!" You hissed, your eyes wide. "He killed someone and you're not going to do anything?!"

Dean sighed heavily and turned to Sam who explained carefully, "He didn't kill 'someone', he killed a rapist. And we've seen this kind of thing before. I had a friend. Actually. Alex isn't a threat to this community. If anything, he's sort of helpful. Kind of like a spider."

"Sure. Reallll helpful," you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "So that's it. Case closed."

The lump in your throat returned as Sam and Dean went through the motions of explaining the morality of the situation. But it wasn't so much the lack of repercussions you were upset about. You agreed. Alex hadn't done anything to anyone, except Jason, and Jason had most definitely been asking for it. No, the problem was case closed meant room closed. Bed closed. Hot food closed.

"About that," Dean said, sitting up straighter, clearing his throat. "Yeah, we're not gonna leave you here."

You looked up so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. "Y-you mean I…I can come with you?"

"Not exactly," Sam stated, rubbing the back of his neck. "We have a friend, Jodi Mills. And she said she would be more than willing to take you. She's a cop, and she has a couple girls around your age. She's already requested a transfer of guardianship."

You felt your eyes well up again, but this time out of thankfulness. This was a chance, an opportunity. And if Sam and Dean trusted her, she couldn't possibly be a bad person. No more here. No more. For the first time in years, your shoulders felt light, you could breathe easier. This was more than you could have hoped for. Nodding slowly, you raised your eyes to Dean's, then Sam's, unable to speak, but saying everything.

Three months later, you scrawled a letter to Sam and Dean detailing your new school, the art club you had joined, and the fake tattoos you and Claire gave each other that always scared Jodi half to death, and at the end of the letter, you signed,

"I feel like I've finally found my way home. Thank you guys. For everything."


End file.
